


But I'll be stumbling away (Slowly learning that life is okay)

by Merideath



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst, Banter, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Humor, Mild Language, Minor Peggy Carter, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Time Travel, Trope Bingo Round 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-21
Updated: 2013-07-27
Packaged: 2017-12-20 21:44:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/892238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merideath/pseuds/Merideath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Darcy thought life would be boring after meeting a god and helping evacuate people in the wake of a fire breathing mechanical monstrosity she was wrong.  Some things never change though. She makes coffee and ramen noodles, laments the loss of her ipod, and does whatever Jane asks her to do. Mostly. That is until the day she buys a vintage comic book from a street market and has a very interesting dream. At least she thinks it’s a dream... </p><p>..........</p><p>“Hey, you never told me where we are.  So where are we, Steve?”  Darcy interjects before Steve can finish talking.</p><p>“You don’t know where you are?”</p><p>“I wouldn’t ask if I knew where I was,” Darcy says, kicking a can out of her way as the head down the alley.</p><p>“Brooklyn, New York. Where did you think you were?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. comic book

**Author's Note:**

> A few weeks ago while sitting in Starbucks with an iced latte 'Take On Me' started playing on Starbucks radio. While I listened a plot bunny was born of Darcy slipping into a Captain America comic and meeting Steve. I word vomited on tumblr (merideathislost if you want to stalk me) and everyone enabled the hell out of me to write this fic. So here it is.
> 
> Thank you to Britt for beta'ing this for me, It was an epic task but she beat my slipped punctuation, switched tenses, and doubled words into shape. 
> 
> Big thanks to Katy too for reading along as I wrote and telling me when I went off the rails, or when I gave her all the Steve feels.

“But I'll be stumbling away (Slowly learning that life is okay)”- Take On Me by A-ha

\----

“Come on, Jane, if we don’t hurry all the good stuff will be gone,” Darcy shouts as she taps her boot on the floor, flicking through her tumblr dash on her phone. 

“Just go without me,” Jane calls out, running her hand through her hair as she scribbles down equations on a sheet of graph paper below a coffee stain. “Bring back—”

“Coffee. I know, Jane,” Darcy sighs. Pushing through the door of the car sales showroom Darcy pops her earbuds in and hums along to the first song to pop up on random.

It’s been two weeks since the Destroyer made like a Power Rangers baddie and tried to take out Puente Antiguo, and Thor powered up. With funding from an unknown source the town is recovering. The buildings destroyed in the initial attack have new store fronts, or new skeletons of yellow timber shining in the sun. People are selling up and getting the hell out. Darcy can’t say she blames them. 

She only has another week and a half of her internship left, before she returns to Culver. As for Jane, well Jane will go where the science is, or where the funding is. Which at the moment is S.H.I.E.L.D., and comes complete with a set of agents keeping an eye on Jane, and Puente Antiguo. 

The main street of town is a riot of covered tabled filled with all manner of bric-a-brac, food, and secondhand clothing. Darcy is in heaven as she rummages through tables, filling her bag with books, two vintage dresses, an awesome knitted sweater with dancing cacti on it, a smoky quartz paperweight with a leafless tree carved into the stone, and one Captain America comic book from 1944.

.........

“Jane, I’m back did you miss me?” Darcy calls out as she steps back into the showroom.

“Coffee,” Jane grunts, holding out her hand and never looking up from her computer. Darcy hands over the coffee and drops a little bag of donuts on the table. Jane slurps her coffee as she scribbles notes into her journal. 

“I’ve got ten more minutes of my break left. I’m gonna go up on the roof,” Darcy says, dropping her bag onto her desk and rummaging around until she pulls out a book and the Captain America comic. Leaving the paperweight at the bottom of her bag, to give to Jane later. 

Darcy climbs up to the roof and curls up in one of Jane’s chairs, flipping through the pages of the book then setting it aside to open the Captain America comic. It’s not a first issue, but she happily begins reading about Cap and his kid sidekick Bucky fighting Nazis. Her eyes grow heavy as she reads and she closes her eyes, just for a moment enjoying the warmth of the sun on her face.  
.........  
The world shifts, and vertigo rolls over Darcy in a wave as she opens her eyes and steps through a doorway into a crowded movie theatre. A man bumps into her arm with a mumbled ‘Sorry, ma’am,’ and Darcy wobbles on her feet grabbing onto the back of one of the theater seats to steady herself.

“I can’t see,” mutters a voice and Darcy startles, looking around and finding an empty seat next to a thin man in a tan jacket.

“I’m dreaming,” she murmurs leaning back into her seat. Clothing and paper rustle all around her, and she can smell sweat, stale perfume. Darcy pinches the skin of her arm between thumb and forefinger. Nothing happens. Glancing around in the light from the black and white newsreel playing on the screen, she can just make out the vintage hairstyles and grim faces of the people filling the seats. A woman a few seats over, in a red floral dress similar to what Darcy’s wearing, is crying. Fat tears spill over her cheeks, and Darcy has to look away. The newsreel shows a little boy as the voice over drones on. So weird.

_...Nice work Timmy..._

“Who cares. Play the movie already,” calls out a voice.

“Hey, want to show some respect?” says the little guy in the tan jacket beside her. His small fists clench and unclench.

Let’s go! Get on with it. Just start the cartoon,” calls out the same voice in front of them. 

Hey, you wanna shuddup?” the little guy says, leaning forward jaw clenched tight as a big guy stands up and turns around.

_...Together with allied forces we will face any threat no matter the size..._

Don’t get involved. Don’t get involved. The words run in a circuit around Darcy’s head as the big guy drags the man in the tan jacket out of the theater. Darcy’s never been very good at keeping out of trouble, not when someone needs help. And it is her dream after all. “Damn it,” Darcy mutters, slipping out of her seat and following out the side door and into a grim alley.

“I can do this all day,” the little guy says, his pale hair catching what little light filters into the alley. Blood is dripping from his nose as the big guy hits him again. 

“Dude, I really don’t think you can,” Darcy mutters under her breath. Bending down she picks up a bottle from the spilled garbage littering the alley. It feels solid and heavy in her hand, as real as the seat in the cinema felt, beneath her hand. Holding the bottle by the neck she slams it against the back of Big and Ugly’s head. “Oh shit.” The guy doesn’t go down and he spins to look at her, grabbing at Darcy’s raised arm.

“You wanna dance too, sweetheart?” he sneers. 

“Not particularly,” Darcy snarks, twisting her body and letting fly with her left fist. It’s not her best punch, but it’s got enough power behind it to tilt Ugly’s face back at the same time the little guy slams the garbage can lid down on his head. The bully drops like a ton of bricks.

“You alright ma’am?” 

“I think so,” Darcy says, though she doesn’t sound all that convinced. “Hey, where am I? Because this isn’t what I was reading about in my Captain America comic.”

“Who?”

“Captain America. It’s a comic from the forties,” she says to his confusion. “This dream doesn’t make any sense.”

“Never heard’a him.”

“Doesn’t matter, this is all a dream anyway,” Darcy frowns, looking down at her knuckles, red and scraped from punching Ugly in the face. “I just need to wake up.” 

“You’ve got one hell of a left hook for a dame...woman. I had ‘em on the ropes.”

“Dude, that guy was twice your size. It’s Darcy. Though shouldn’t you know my name if this is a dream.”

“Uh, Steve. Steve Ro--”

“Hey, you never told me where we are. So where are we, Steve?” Darcy interjects before Steve can finish talking.

“You don’t know where you are?”

“I wouldn’t ask if I knew where I was,” Darcy says, kicking a can out of her way as the head down the alley.

“Brooklyn, New York. Where did you think you were?”

“Puente Antiguo, New Mexico,” Darcy says absently, looking closer at one of the posters peeling off the wall.

“Never heard of it,” Steve says, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbing at his bloody nose. 

“You wouldn’t...” Darcy says, voice trailing off as a figure blocks the end of the alley. 

“Steve,” calls out the man clad in a smart dress uniform, hat cocked jauntily to the side, lips curving up in a smirk as his eyes rake over her. “Who’s the dame?”

“Hey, Buck. I want you to meet Darc—“

“I think...I think I have to go,” Darcy frowns, rubbing her hand over her abdomen as her guts twist, her vision swims and it feels as if she is being torn apart cell by cell. “I have to go.” 

Steve calls after her as she pushes open the door back into the theater. It shouldn’t open for her but it does. 

…….

Darcy steps through into bright sunlight and dry desert air. The comic book lays open on the roof beside her feet.

“Darcy, where have you been? I’ve been calling you. Today’s readings are all off,” Jane says as she steps out onto the roof of the show room behind Darcy.

“I was reading and then I was...” Darcy says, voice trailing off as she looks at the knuckles of her left hand, still red, the skin split and tacky with blood. “I think...I was dreaming?”


	2. a handful of coins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to wait another day or so to post the second chapter but I couldn't do that. I'm terrible at waiting and I could just do with something a little nice, so here you go.
> 
> Thank you to Britt for being my beta. Any remaining errors are my own.

It takes three days for Darcy to pick up the Captain America comic again. 

One last week of her internship left. 

Darcy still can’t decide if she will miss helping Jane or not.

Her knuckles have healed and she still can’t explain how she busted them in the first place. Jane didn’t want to listen the few times Darcy tried to bring up the subject. Flopping down on her sleeping bag in the former office of the showroom, she grabs the Captain America comic from the top of the pile of books beside her pillow. Stomach twisting, she closes her eyes and falls to her knees in a tangle of green leaves and black earth.

“Not again,” Darcy groans, pushing herself up to sitting and brushing her hands together.

“Don’t move, kid,” says a low voice and something hard presses to the side of Darcy’s head. She can’t see it, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out it’s a gun. 

“What?” Darcy says, holding still, palms still pressed together. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“I said don’t move,” the voice says again.

“I’m talking not moving, asshole,” Darcy mutters low.

“She’s got you there, ace,” says another voice filled with amusement.

“She’s gotta mouth like a sailor,” says the first voice. Darcy tilts her head to the side, catching sight of an odd little hat and a moustache. 

“Fuck you,” Darcy hisses. It’s a dream. It’s just a dream. 

“You a spy, kid?”

“Do I look like a spy?”

“You look like you shouldn’t be here.” 

“Tell me about it,” Darcy huffs. 

“Who’re you working for, kid?”

“I’m not a kid. I work for Dr. Foster. I’m pretty sure I’m not in New Mexico any more, Toto.”

“Who do you work for? Hydra?”

“Are you dumb or something? I just said...ow,” Darcy says as the gun presses hard into her scalp.

“It ain’t safe here,” the other voice cautions. “What’re we gonna do with her?”

“Take her back to the Captain.” The other voice says the word ‘captain’ and it’s definitely in capitals, possibly bolded. 

“You still got that rope, Morita?” moustache guy says. Darcy jerks as a meaty hand wraps around her upper arm and drags her up to her feet. Morita. The name swirls around in her head.

“Like the comic?” she says, voice barely above a whisper as the other man comes into view. He’d be handsome if he didn’t looks so grim, Darcy thought absently as Morita tied her hands together with a short length of rope. 

“Walk.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“It’s your lucky day, kiddo. You’re going to meet Captain America,” moustache guy says. Dum Dum her brain supplies unhelpfully. 

Branches snag on her sweater and jeans as she stumbles through thick forest. The sky is overcast, what little she glimpses of it through the canopy of trees. She falls to her knees more than once; her wrists ache from the rope, and she can barely feel her fingertips. Morita disappear ahead of her, Dum Dum presses his rifle into her back between her shoulder blades. “Keep moving,” he growls and shoves her forward into a small clearing. Darcy stumbles, but before she can hit the ground hands grab her by the arms and set her back on her feet.

“Hello there, sweetheart,” says the man holding her with a wicked smirk that doesn’t touch his blue eyes. 

“Bucky,” Darcy breathes out as her brain puts a name to his face. The last dream in the alley, his face wasn’t quite so thin then. “Where’s Steve then?” she asks without thinking and Bucky frowns.

“Who are you?” Bucky says. His hands tighten painfully on her arms, and Darcy winces.

“Ow. That hurts.”

“Darcy?” says another man as he steps up beside Bucky. The man is tall and blonde with piercing blue eyes, a stubborn set to his jaw and decidedly patriotic attire. His mouth is turned down in a fierce scowl; he doesn’t look like someone to argue with. 

“Let me guess, Captain America?” Darcy snarks, jerking out of Bucky’s grip. If it’s a dream she is going to step out of this and never going to read that comic again.

“What the hell are you doin’ here?” Captain America says.

“I wanted some fresh air, so I went for a walk in the woods. Am I your prisoner or are you gonna untie me?” Darcy asks raising her bound hands. Captain America and Bucky share a look, and Bucky pulls out a knife, cutting the rope from her wrists.

“Darcy.”

“That’s my name don’t wear it out,” Darcy says flexing her wrists and wiggling her fingers. Pain spikes through her hands as the blood begins to circulate again. To keep from crying out, Darcy bites her lip hard enough she can taste copper in her mouth. 

“How’d you get here?”

“I was reading and now I’m here. I’m just...here? Where is here?” Darcy asks, examining the red marks on her wrists from the rope.

“We’re—“

“Steve,” Bucky hisses low. Darcy’s head snaps up, eyes narrowed at Captain America.

“That’s not Steve,” Darcy says flatly. Bucky and Captain America look at each other, Cap’s eyebrows twitching. “Steve was a mouthy little guy in an alley in Brooklyn, without any sense of self preservation. That Steve is not built like a fucking truck.”

“Shit,” Bucky mutters.

“I--,” Captain America says, shifting uncomfortably. 

“No,” Darcy says, stepping up to Captain America and covering the lower half of his face with her hands. The movement makes her wrists ache fiercely as she leans up on her toes. His eyes are the same blue, his eyebrows rise up towards his hair line and his mouth twitches beneath her palm. “Say something,” Darcy demands as she pulls her hands away.

“Something,” Steve says dryly and Bucky snorts. 

“Pfff. Smartass.”

"I was talking before you covered my mouth.” 

“No.”

“Captain Steve Rogers of Brooklyn. I used’ta be a lot shorter," he says with a shrug.

“You’re Captain America? From my comic book? Holy fuck. What the hell happened to you?" Darcy asks, poking at Steve’s chest.

“I joined the army.”

“What the hell?” Darcy says. 

“S’true,” Steve says softly and Bucky nods. “Now, tell us how you got here.”

“This is one really screwed up dream,” Darcy mutters to herself, taking a step back from Steve as she notices the circle of men surrounding them. “I was reading a comic and then I was here in Munchkin Land. Though I think we’re missing a witch and a pair of silver slippers.”

“Ruby slippers,” Bucky says.

“They’re silver in the book,” Darcy and Steve say at the same time. Darcy looks up at Steve in surprise and Bucky sighs.

.........

Captain America, James ‘Bucky’ Barnes, Timothy ‘Dum Dum’ Dugan, Jim Morita, Gabriel Jones, Montgomery Falsworth, and Jaques Dernier. The Howling Commandos. 

They aren’t just names in a comic book, or a paragraph in her Junior High history book. The men sitting around the fire, the rope burn on her wrists, the tin cup in her hands, the dirt under her nails are all too real to be a dream. 

Steve sits on one side sketching in a journal, Bucky on the other, dismantling a rifle to clean it. Dugan and Jones set up camp for the night and keep giving her the side eye when Steve or Bucky aren’t looking. 

The pencil scratches against the paper, and Darcy breathes in the scent of gun oil, sweat and smoke from the small fire they sit near. She sips from the tin cup in her hand, grimacing as the bitter liquid hits her tongue.

“You sure this is tea?” Darcy asks, wrinkling her nose. 

“If you’re not gonna drink it,” Bucky says, taking the cup out of her hand and swallowing a mouthful before she can protest.

.......

The lead of his pencil has worn down to nothing when Steve pulls a knife out to sharpen it. Small curls of wood fall to the dirt between his boots. He watches Bucky and Darcy argue over a tin cup. He isn’t sure what to make of her yet. Darcy isn’t lying that much he can tell. She believes every word she speaks. The future isn’t something he wants to think about, not when Dugan asked about the end of the war and Darcy got quiet, her eyes flicking back to him. 

It doesn’t take much to figure out that Captain America doesn’t survive to see the end of it.

“You sure there are no Stark flying cars in the future?” Bucky asks, handing the cup back to Darcy.

“Nope. Stark makes weapons or did, mostly, its complicated,” Darcy says. She swirls the cup in her hands and takes another sip, nose wrinkling when the liquid hits her tongue. 

“Howard’s still kickin’ in your time?” Steve asks. Darcy chokes on the tea and wipes her sweater across her mouth. Bucky pats her on the back and Darcy elbows him in the chest before getting to her feet. 

“His son Tony is,” Darcy says softly and they all fall silent again. “I best give the cup back,” Darcy says awkwardly, twisting to brush dirt from the seat of her trousers. Steve catches Bucky’s eye and Bucky grins wolfishly, wiggling his eyebrows at him.

“You collectin’ brunettes, punk?” Bucky asks low when Darcy is far enough away from them not to hear their conversation.

“What?” Steve splutters, looking up from his sketchbook.

“Agent Carter and now your little H.G. Wells over there,” Bucky cocks his head to Darcy helping Morita stir the small pot over the fire. 

“She isn’t my anything.”

“You sure ‘bout that? You were awful quick to accept her as tellin’ the truth.”

“She believes what she’s sayin’,” Steve says reaching into his pocket to pull out the coin Darcy gave him. ‘Yosemite California 2010 E Pluribus Unum’ is written around an image of the park he has only seen in photographs and newsreels. “Seems an awful lot of trouble to make a handful of fake coins. You didn’t say anything when Dugan dragged her into camp.”

Bucky shrugs, eyes flicking over to Darcy warming her hands over the fire, the cloth bandages visible around her wrists. “She fought for a skinny kid in an ally. She had your back,” he says low, getting to his feet. “She ain’t lying; I just don’t know that she’s tellin’ the truth.”

..........

“Tell me about Peggy. She’s your girl, right?” Darcy says when she sits down on the fallen tree Steve is perched on as he takes first watch back to the dying embers of the fire. 

“That in your history books?” Steve asks, wondering if would be better to go patrol around the camp again.

“There isn’t much about her in the books. I tried searching the internet but there isn’t a lot of data on Margaret ‘Peggy’ Carter, beyond some vague mentions of her part in the war,” Darcy says, pulling her sweater over the ends over her hands.

“Is...is she still alive?” Steve asks. He avoids looking at Darcy, he doesn’t want to see the answer in her eyes. But he can’t not ask.

“I don’t know. She survives the war I know that from my seventh grade history report, but that was a long time ago.”

“It can’t be that long ago, you’re still a kid,” Steve says and almost immediately regrets it.

“Scuse you. I’m twenty. I’ll be twenty one in a few months,” Darcy says tartly. Steve grunts looking up at the sky. The moon is nearly full, ribbons of cloud obscuring and revealing it from sight. 

“Beg pardon, ma’am,” he says after a moment. 

“I don’t know why I’m here,” Darcy says curling her arms around her knees. “You shouldn’t feel pain in your dreams. Shouldn’t feel this cold, or hurt... or smell all of you. I mean you guys really stink.”

“My apologies,” Steve says dryly, “I promise to bathe in rosewater next time you decide to visit from the future.”

“You do that,” Darcy snorts. They fall into an oddly comfortable silence, lost in thought, together. In the stillness she feels the tickle deep in her gut, a wrenching sensation. “Steve, I...” 

“Darcy,” Steve says, eyes widening in horror as she falls back over the log and vanishes before his eyes.

.........

Darcy lands with a thud, sprawled across the floor of the showroom, stomach churning and wrists throbbing as she pushes herself up to her feet. 

A few leaves cling to her sweater and hair and her wrists are still in the bandages Falsworth wrapped them in. The lingering medicinal scent of the salve he rubbed in makes her nose twitch. Lifting up her sweater Darcy digs into the pocket of her jeans, wrapping her fingers around the folded paper and pebble she put there. With shaking hands she unfolds the paper, eyes scanning over the sketch. The drawing is of her and Bucky, sitting side by side, tin cup in her hands, dirt smudged across her cheek, Bucky reaching for the cup with a smirk. Darcy traces her fingers over the pencil lines and the ‘SR’ in the corner. “Holy shit."


	3. ash and ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy's fingers itch to open the comic again. It seemed like a better idea in her head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story is now complete, fully beta'd, and should run to a total of 5 possibly 6 chapters depending on how I cut the scenes. 
> 
> Thank you to Britt for her wonderful job beta'ing this and for pushing me to write a little bit more.

Jane doesn’t believe her. 

Well it’s not that she doesn’t believe her, its more the fact that one of Jane’s duct taped together machines decides to give up the ghost in a spectacular fashion and she has no time to listen to Darcy. Science always wins. 

Which is fine, Darcy really doesn’t want to believe it either. 

Except her wrists are still covered in rope burns, there is a sketch from a long dead American war hero pinned up above her sleeping bag, and a small quartz pebble zipped carefully into the pocket of her purse. She isn’t sure if time travel is better or worse than homeless demigods wandering drunkenly through the desert. 

The Captain America comic sits under a stack of books, not quite forgotten. It takes all of a day for Darcy to give into the itching in her palms. To pull it out from the bottom of the stack and flip open the pages. 

.......

It’s dark wherever she has stepped through this time. A bombed out building, bits of rubble under the heels of her boots, dust and soot cover the surface.

“Go away,” Steve says as she steps through a hole in the brick wall. He’s sitting alone, the medals on his dress uniform catching the dim light, a bottle and shot glass his only companions.   
“Steve?” Darcy calls out as she steps around a fallen chair and shattered glass.

“I don’t need any more ghosts,” he says, voice thick with emotion. Steve scrubs his hand over his face. “Get out.”

“What’s going on? Where are we?” Darcy asks, spinning in a slow circle, glass crunching beneath her boots.

“He’s gone. Bucky’s gone,” Steve says downing the liquid in the bottom of his shot glass and pouring another. 

“I’m sorry. I don’t—”

“If you can really travel in time, save him,” Steve says, slamming the glass down on the table.

“I...I can’t. I don’t control it,” Darcy says, blinking back tears. “I’m sorry.”

“Then why the fuck are you here?”

“I don’t know,” Darcy whispers. “I’m just here.” She reaches out to touch his shoulder and Steve jerks away. “I’m sorry.” She runs out of the building.

It feels like days before she is pulled back, soot on her hands and covering her boots. 

Bucky Barnes is dead. A character from a comic, a bad 80s cartoon. A man with a wicked smirk, a blue coat and a superhero for a best friend. 

Bucky Barnes died nearly seventy years ago. 

Steve Rogers, Captain America, mourns the loss of a friend. 

Steve Rogers died a hero. Before her father was born, before she was born.

...........

“Jane can you please stop working for one minute and say bye-bye,” Darcy says, balancing the last box of her belongings on her hip. 

“Bye-bye,” Jane parrots, squinting down at a printed readout.

“Jaaaane.”

“Oh,” Jane murmurs, blinking slowly. “Oh. Darcy! I’m sorry it’s just—,”

“Science. I know. Hug?” Darcy says lifting up her free arm. Jane hugs her fiercely and then starts babbling something about bridges and calculations and Darcy knows she has lost her again. She leaves Jane scribbling down equations and walks out into the afternoon sunshine.

Levering the car door open Darcy shifts the box on her hip to shove it in. The box has other plans though and the bottom gives way, spilling books and toys all over the concrete. “Motherfucker,” she snarls, kneeling down to begin collecting the books and tossing them into the back of her car. The Captain America comic is the last thing she touches. Her fingers slide across the page and she is hit by a sudden wave of vertigo. She closes her eyes to the feeling of being jerked by invisible strings. “Not again.”

...........

“Hello?” she calls out. stepping through a metal hatch onto the bridge of a plane. It’s cold; she can see each puff of air. There is blood spilled on the metal flooring and a body she carefully steps around, covering her mouth and nose with her hand.

“I gotta put her in the water,” rumbles a voice down the corridor. Steve.

_...Please don’t do this, we have time. We can work it out..._

“Peggy, this is my choice,” Steve says firmly. Something about the tone wrenches Darcy’s heart, tips over the dominos in her head. Captain America was lost in a plane crash. He died to save the world.

_...I’m here..._

“I’m gonna need a rain-check on that dance,” Steve says. Darcy steps onto the bridge.

_...Alright. A week, next Saturday, at the Stork Club..._

“You got it.”

_...Eight o’clock on the dot. Don’t you dare be late, understood?..._

“You know, I still don’t know how to dance,” Steve says. “I’d hate to step on your toes.” The radio crackles. There is no reply from Peggy.

“You’re gonna kill yourself?” Darcy says sharply.

“Darcy,” Steve exclaims looking up from the instrument panel. “You can’t be here. The plane is going down.”

“Because you’re bringing it down. What sort of self-sacrificing bullshit is that?”

“You gotta go,” Steve growls. She reaches out to place her hand on his arm and his eyes flick over her face then back to the widow and the rapidly approaching ice. 

“Yeah ‘cause it’s that easy,” Darcy snarks. The floor tilts beneath her feet and her fingers slip from Steve’s arm. Steve grabs her hand, dragging her back towards him, and curses under his breath. “Oh god.” 

“M’sorry,” Steve shouts in her ear. Tears prick at her eyes, and Steve wraps his arm so tight around her that she’s sure her ribs creak. It doesn’t stop her from clinging to his uniform. She is going to die with Captain America and all she can think is how many goddamned straps are on his suit.

The plane shudders when it hits the ice, metal screaming, glass exploding inward cutting into Darcy’s clothes, into her flesh. Water rushes over her feet, up over her legs. “Go, go, go,” he whispers against her shoulder. He doesn’t let go. 

She feels it, a tickle at first, and a hard tug, whatever magic, whatever is in the comic book, it’s pulling her back. “Steve,” she sobs, tightening her grip as the ice water washes over them. 

_So cold._ It’s the last thing she thinks as the water fills her lungs and her eyes close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you believe me if I say sorry? But it's really just the best place to cut off the chapter. I promise to post the next chapter soon. I wouldn't be that cruel. Really. I promise. 
> 
> And remember what I said above, this fic is finished and no longer a WIP so you needn't worry about it never having an ending.


	4. crash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I'm really terribly bad at waiting to post things. I just don't have a cruel enough heart to make you wait another few days. I know Katy is probably laughing at me for this. I probably should laugh at myself. I just love this little verse so very much and hope you all love it as much as I do.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has commented and given kudos, even you lovely anon, it's cheered me up no end when I have been feeling a little down. So thank you. 
> 
> Thank you to Britt for beta'ing and Katy for putting up with me.

They crash to the ground in a sprawl of tangled limbs and chunks of ice. It feels like his guts have been torn out and shoved back in. Steve shakes his head leans over and promptly vomits up ice water. “Jesus,” he mutters, scrubbing at his mouth. “Darcy,” he croaks. 

Darcy lies beside him, face down and unmoving. Steve rolls her over, sweeps the tangle of her wet hair off her pale face. Darcy coughs and water dribbles out of her mouth. Her lips are blue, and she is barely breathing. “Goddamn it breathe, kid.” 

Darcy takes a gasping breath, then another, and he feels dizzy with relief. 

He looks up, at the warm sun, the blue car beside him, “Help. I need help,” Steve shouts, scooping Darcy up into his arms, her head lolls against his neck, her skin is so cold.

“Oh my god,” calls a voice and Steve turns around to face a small woman with birdlike hands. “Darcy. What did you do to her?”

“She’s cold, barely alive. I need to get her warm,” Steve says, ignoring the woman’s questions.

“Oh god. The trailer,” the woman says. Steve follows her pointing hand and rushes across the lot. He juggles Darcy in his arms and manages to get the door open. He sets her down on the bed strips off Darcy’s sweater, boots and pants. He carefully wraps the blankets around Darcy.

The woman follows behind them talking into a small object in her hands. She isn’t a threat so he ignores her; his priority is getting Darcy warm again. Steve strips off his jacket, shirt, boots and pants and slips under the blankets pulling Darcy to his chest.

“What the hell do you think you are doing?” The woman’s voice is shrill. 

“Come on, Darcy. No self-sacrificing bullshit,” he murmurs, holding her tightly, hoping his warmth is seeping into her. “Where are we?” He asks the woman.

“You don’t know where you are?”

“M’guessing Puente Antiguo, New Mexico.”

“Who are you?”

“Steve Rogers, ma’am,” he says and Darcy shifts against his chest, pressing her face closer to his skin. “What day is it?”

“Saturday. I think... oh no wait, it’s Sunday,” she says holding out the rectangular object in her hand. 

“What year?” he asks, though he doesn’t want to know. Darcy pulled him from the ice, across time. He doesn’t want to think about it.

“You don’t know what year it is?”

“Please,” Steve rasps.

“2011,” she says. 

Steve closes his eyes, holds Darcy a little bit closer. 

_I had a date._

...........

Darcy wakes to the sound of voices murmuring low, the feel of scratching blankets beneath her hands and an antiseptic smell that fills her lungs and makes her nose wrinkle.

“You know, it's really, it's just a... just a huge honor to meet you,” say a vaguely familiar voice. 

Blinking open her eyes she stares up at the tiled ceiling. There is a hospital band on her wrist, and her paper dress crinkles when she sits up rubbing at her face. Metal, ice and cold. Droplets of blood on the floor, cold water seeping into her bones and filling her lungs. Steve. 

“Oh god,” she breathes out. Throwing the blanket back she swings her legs over the side of the bed, her legs feel weak and the tiled floor is a shock against her bare toes.

“Good morning, Miss Lewis,” says the same vaguely familiar voice from the open doorway of her room.

“Agent Son of Coul,” Darcy says awkwardly, holding the back of her gown together.

“Agent Coulson,” he supplies with a bland smile. 

“How long was I out for?”

“Twenty hours. It appears you have had quite an...adventure.”

“I read a comic,” Darcy says warily.

“It was a bit more than that, Miss Lewis.”

“I get really into a story. I obsess over fictional characters, it’s a problem,” Darcy says, rocking on her heels. 

“Didn’t think I was fictional,” rumbles a deep voice from the door. Darcy’s breath catches as Steve stands awkwardly in the doorway. He’s dressed in a light blue button down shirt, dark pants, and brown shoes. Darcy barrels into his chest, wrapping her arms around his trim waist.

“It was real,” she mumbles into his shirt. She can’t decide if it’s a question or not. “You’re real.” Tears prick at her eyes and Steve carefully wraps his arms around her back. 

“You have five minutes before the quinjet arrives, Captain Rogers,” Coulson says from behind her.

Pulling back from Steve she turns around to glare at agent Coulson, “What five minutes?”

“I, uh, agreed to go back to S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ when I was sure you were okay after the...just after,” Steve grimaces. 

“Agent Sitwell will be arriving in a few minutes with some questions for you, Miss Lewis,” Coulson says slipping past Steve and heading out the door. “I suggest you take the time to say your goodbyes.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Darcy says, running her hands through her tangled hair. “Screw that, it’s real, you’re real. I nearly died. We nearly died.”

“Yeah.”

“The comic?”

“Got ruined. The water,” Steve says, hands twitching at his sides. “They...S.H.I.E.L.D., has what’s left of it.” 

“They’re taking you away.”

“I have nowhere else to be. I can’t...” Steve scowls down at the tiles off to the left of Darcy’s bare feet. “They say they can’t send me back.”

“I’m sorry,” Darcy says. She doesn’t know what else to say, sorry doesn’t seem to cover half of it.

“I better go. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I couldn’t lose anyone else,” Steve says, voice cracking. Darcy takes his hand in hers, lacing their fingers together. Steve jolts, his fingers tighten around hers a fraction, breath hitching.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Captain, but your transport is here,” Coulson says through the open doorway.

“Thanks,” Steve says over his shoulder. “I’ve got to go, Darcy.” Steve untangles his hand from hers and slips out of the room.

“Bye, Steve,” she whispers, bowing her head. 

...........

“What do you mean I can’t talk to Agent Coulson or Captain Rogers?” Darcy asks.

“Agent Coulson is unavailable at this time,” says the voice on the other end of the line. 

Darcy bangs her head against the wall and ends the call without saying goodbye. It’s the third call she has made in as many days. This week anyway. 

It’s been nearly a month since she woke up in the tiny medical center in Puente Antiguo. Four and a quarter weeks of the daily trudge to classes that Darcy is no longer bothered about attending, with classmates and roommates that never met gods or superheroes. Never faced a Destroyer, or travelled through time.

It’s coming to something that she has to go hang out in a cramped lab with Jane just to feel connected. 

Jane doesn’t mind as long as Darcy brings coffee, and maybe after the weirdness of travelling through a wormhole herself, she is now beginning to understand some of Jane’s science babble. Or at least pay a little bit more attention to it. Darcy’s book shelf that once had been filed with science fiction and fantasy now included books on Norse Mythology, Captain America and more than a few books on astrophysics, astronomy and Higgs Boson wormholes. 

“You need to stop calling them, Darce. It’s S.H.I.E.L.D. you aren’t going to get anything out of them,” Jane sighs, grabbing the roll of duct tape off of a cluttered table in the lab.

“They gave you funding and you have Dilbert across the hall playing Candy Crush on his Starkphone,” Darcy snarks, pulling the roll of tape out of Jane’s hand and replacing it with a plate of grilled cheese, only slightly cold.

“Agent Dylan,” Jane says, absently poking at the sandwich.

“That’s what I said, Agent Dillweed,” Darcy huffs, opening up her laptop and cracking her knuckles. 

“Dylan,” Jane mumbles around a bite of grilled cheese.

“Whatever, dude is an asshole,” Darcy mutters as her fingers fly across the keyboard. 

“Just because he won’t let you use his phone to call Agent Coulson doesn’t make him an asshole.”

“Seriously, Jane?”

“Him working for a secret government agency makes him an asshole,” Jane says and Darcy snorts.

“Thank you! I knew there was a reason I hang out with you. Yanno, aside from all the stuff we aren’t supposed to talk about,” Darcy frowns at her laptop and mutters curses under her breath.

“Darcy, what are you doing? That’s S.H.I.E.L.D.’s site,” Jane says, rolling her chair closer to peek over Darcy shoulder.

“I’m biting the hand that feeds us,” Darcy says, pushing her glasses up. “They won’t talk to me so I’m saying hello a different way.”

“Is hacking S.H.I.E.L.D. the best way to find out what they did to Captain America?”

“He’s my friend. I’m gonna find him. He’s harder to hide than my ipod.”

“It’s time you let it go, Darce.”

“I’ll let it go when you stop trying to rip a hole in the fabric of time and space,” Darcy says. Jane splutters out something she doesn’t catch, too focused on her laptop. “How long do you think I can poke around before I get a call? Or better yet ‘til Dullard stumbles though the door?” Darcy smiles, sharp as a blade.

...........

The future isn’t so hard to live in. It’s the past that’s hard to live with. 

There are no flying cars. Men have walked on the moon. And Margaret ‘Peggy’ Carter is alive. 

Bucky’s dead, months ago, or nearly seventy years, doesn’t really matter which; the hollowness is still there in his chest. The nightmares are still real when he wakes in the night covered in sweat, tears tracing down his cheeks. 

He has spent the last month acclimatizing to a future he isn’t sure he has the right to live in. The days crawl by slowly as he adapts. It’s not easy. But punching things helps. 

“Good afternoon, Captain Rogers,” Agent Coulson says as he steps into the gym. Steve tenses, reaching out to still the punching bag before him. 

“You here to drag me back to S.H.I.E.L.D.?” Steve growls and unwinds the tape from his hands.

“I’m not here on official business, Captain. I’m here to see how you are faring and to urge you to give Miss Lewis a call,” Coulson says, holding out a slim white card that Steve automatically takes. “She seems to think we have hidden you away in Hangar 51.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s a movie reference, Indiana Jones. Raiders of the Lost Ark. You might like it.”

“Thanks, I think,” Steve says frowning down at the card in his hand.

“Thank you, Captain for signing my cards. I really appreciate it,” Coulson beams. Steve shifts uncomfortably and shoves the card into the pocket of his sweats.

“It was no trouble, Agent Coulson. If you don’t mind,” Steve says, gesturing towards the punching bag.

“Oh...yes...sorry to disturb you. Please tell Miss Lewis to stay out of our servers or she will find herself with a job. Have a nice day, Captain Rogers.”

“Yeah,” Steve mutters to himself once Coulson is out of hearing range. He focuses back on the heavy bag before him, clenches his fists tight and pours out everything he has into each punch. All the anger, grief, and frustration, until the chain snaps and the bag flies across the room. Steve grabs another bag by the chain and hangs it on the hook.

His fists pound against the bags until muscles scream, lungs ache and sweat drips down his forehead mingling with the tears he can’t admit to shedding.

.........

Later when he’s locked behind the wooden door of his apartment, he pulls the card from his pocket. Banishing his doubts he picks up his phone and dials the number. It rings five times and Steve nearly disconnects the call when a breathless ‘hello’ is gasped down the line.

“Hello, Darcy,” Steve says. 

_"Steve!"_

"Yeah," he says rubbing the back of his neck.

 _“How do I know it’s you and not a Life Model Decoy?”_

“Silver slippers,” Steve says after a moment of thought.

_“S.H.I.E.L.D.’s into some pretty hinky shit. You need to do better than that.”_

Closing his eyes, and running his free hand through his hair Steve wracks his brain for something to say. “You have one helluva left hook for a dame.”

_“It’s you.”_

“Yeah it’s me.”

_“So how is it living in the future?”_

“No flying cars, but the coffee’s better,” Steve says dryly. Darcy laughs on the other end of the line and he allows himself to smile.


	5. bread and honey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, the last chapter of this little tale of mine. I hope you enjoy it as much as the rest of the story. I really do love how this little verse turned out from such a cracky idea, that I wasn't entirely sure I could pull off, but I think it turned out rather well in the end. 
> 
> Huge thank you to Britt for asking for more of this, making the ending so much richer than it had before and for services rendered in beta'ing this bad boy into shape. Any remaining errors are my own. 
> 
> Thank you to Katy who though initially dubious of my plans for writing a time travel fic via an 80s song stood by me and read through everything as fast as I could write it.
> 
> Thank you everyone who has commented and kudo'd this fic, it means the world to me that you are all enjoying my storytelling. <3

He doesn’t mean to make a habit of it, but somehow in spite of his best effort, he ends up talking to Darcy every week. 

He calls her after he visits Washington and traces over the names of the dead. She fills the silence between them and just for a little while he feels less alone. 

Visiting Peggy in the nursing home leaves him close to shattering; she is frail and old, and he doesn’t know how to deal with the pent up emotion drowning him when he gets back to his hotel. When his phone rings he nearly throws it across the room. He doesn’t though, he answers, there is no other choice; Darcy won’t stop calling until he does. She’s stubborn like that. His voice thick with unshed tears, for what was, what could have been, and what will never be. 

He probably knows more about Darcy than anyone in his life, aside from Bucky. And Bucky’s gone. She tends to ramble on the phone when she is worried or nervous about something. It’s as annoying as it is charming. 

Halfway through summer S.H.I.E.L.D. recovers the wreckage of Schmidt’s plane and his shield trapped in the ice. 

Ice he should have died in. 

Coulson brings him his shield back, but there are strings attached. There are always strings attached. This time he doesn’t mind agreeing to be a part of the Avengers Initiative, if the need should arise where they need a World War II relic to save the day. It gives him renewed purpose and the intensive training regimen helps him sleep at night.

........

On a Monday afternoon in July he answers a knock on his door to a scowling brunette.

“Asshole, you didn’t answer my phone calls or emails all week,” Darcy says, punching him in the arm and throwing herself into his chest, clinging to his shirt.

“I was busy?” Steve says sheepishly. He wraps his arms around her carefully, breathing in the scent of citrus and flowers in her hair. 

“You are just damn lucky that tasers are illegal in New York, buddy,” Darcy says, digging her fingers into Steve’s side. 

“M’sure I am,” he says, capturing Darcy’s hands and stepping out of her grip. “Mind telling me what you are doing here?”

“I’m on vacation. Oh and you might be getting a call from S.H.I.E.L.D. sometime.”

“Should I be worried?” Steve asks, expression caught between a smirk and a scowl.

“What’s the fun in telling you?” Darcy grins, grabbing a scuffed red suitcase and stepping past him into the apartment. “Swell pad. It’s gonna be fun living here the next three days.”

“What?” Steve frowns.

“Don’t be grumpy.”

“I am not grumpy,” Steve scowls at her.

“Just keep telling yourself that, dude,” Darcy says patting him on the arm.

...........

“A-ha,” Darcy says, flicking through tabs on her laptop.

“What is it?” Steve asks looking up from his sketchbook. Darcy has been in his apartment for three hours and half that time was spend with Darcy telling him off for not answering her phone calls or calling her back. 

“Well, it’s a Norwegian pop band from the Eighties, but that’s not important right now,” Darcy says. Steve’s eyebrows crawl up his forehead before he shakes his head at her. “Aren’t you supposed to be ordering pizza?”

“Whatever you say, kiddo,” Steve says. Darcy rolls her eyes and jabs her finger in the air towards him. Shuffling into the kitchen he digs out the menu from his junk drawer, a small smile curving up his lips, he may not have expected her showing up on his doorstep but he can't say he isn't glad for the company of a good friend. Maybe his only friend. “What do you want on your pizza?”

“Pepperoni and sausage,” Darcy shouts from the living room. “Oh and ask for extra packets of pepper flakes.”

“Pepperoni, sausage and pepper flakes. Got it,” Steve lists off as he picks up the phone.

“Garlic bread sticks!” Darcy shouts from the living room. 

...........

“Indiana Jones or Star Wars?” Darcy asks as Steve closes the door on the pizza delivery guy.

“Coulson said I might like Indiana Jones,” Steve says. He sets the pizza boxes down on the coffee table while Darcy fiddles around with wires at the back of his TV, connecting them to her sticker covered laptop.

“Awesome,” Darcy sighs happily, “Indy was my first hero. So dreamy. Plus the Nazis get their faces melted off. Oh wait- is that gonna be weird? I can put something else on.”

“No, it’s fine. We won the war right?”

“Yeah,” Darcy says worriedly, chewing on her bottom lip. “You’re sure?”

“It’s fine, Darcy. Stop worrying about me, m’not gonna break that easy,” Steve says, dropping his gaze from hers and straightening out the plates beside the pizza boxes. 

“Well you get to ogle Marion. She kicks ass.”

“Is her left hook better than yours?” Steve asks, lips quirking up in a subtle smirk.

“Well she’s fictional and I rock,” Darcy grins, clicking play and scrambling to sit down next to Steve. 

...........

“So where are we going today?” Darcy asks the next morning over breakfast, forkful of eggs hovering in front of her mouth.

“We aren’t going anywhere. I’m going into S.H.I.E.L.D. in the afternoon for training.”

“You’re Captain America you should be able to do what you want. It’s not even seven in the morning,” Darcy says, stabbing at the air with her fork as she scrolls through pages on her phone. “Ohh look the Borough Hall Greenmarket’s on today. It’s not far.”

“No.”

“Yes. Come on Steve it will be fun, there’ll be food. And when was the last time you went out?”

“I went out this morning for a run. You shouted at me for waking you up,” Steve says levelly and Darcy glares at him. Steve can't really deny it's the truth, he had accidentally slammed the door when he got back from his run and Darcy had bolted upright on the sofa reaching for her taser, that thankfully wasn't there. He can't help the smirk curving his mouth so he takes a bite of his toast. 

“That is not going out, Captain.”

“I go to the gym and S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“You sit in coffee shops and sulk.”

“I don’t sulk,” Steve says defensively, setting his fork and knife on the edge of his plate.

“You sulk. I talk to you every week, I know you. You sulk. It’s not a bad thing. The world you live in now is way different than the Forties.”

“It’s not all different,” Steve says with a sigh rubbing his knuckles along his jaw. He should know by now to stop arguing, Darcy is as stubborn as he is. “You’re not gonna drop this ‘til I go with you?”

“Right on the nose, Steve. It’s not just the muscles that made you Captain America,” Darcy beams, waving a slice of bacon triumphantly. 

...........

He does go out, no matter how Darcy teases him about becoming a hermit or how much she worries about him. He still likes visiting the library, and there is a small book store the next block over that sells art supplies, and little cakes in the coffee shop upstairs. He's been to Borough Hall Greenmarket a few times, it's practically at his doorstep after all. The market loud and colorful, filled with exotic fruits and vegetables that he was simultaneously intrigued and overwhelmed by. Darcy grins up at him, tangles her fingers with his and drags him in amongst the stalls and people. 

It's different wandering around doing something that should be ordinary and every day but doesn't feel that way to him. Darcy keeps a tight hold on his hand and he slowly comes to the realization that a part of her holding tight is fear. Fear that if she lets go he will disappear. He doesn't know how to tell her he isn't going anywhere. Steve tightens his grip and Darcy's step falters as she glances up at him, brow furrowed, full bottom lip caught between her teeth.

They buy bread, white peaches, a jar of apricot jam and fat blueberries. Darcy bats his hands away from stealing any more from the canvas sack she let him carry. She teases him about buying apples to bake Captain America a pie. He really wouldn't mind that, even if strawberry is his favorite.

"Oh honey," Darcy says, tugging on his hand.

"Yes, sweetheart?" Steve asks. 

Darcy snorts and points at a stall ahead of them, "Honey, you ass." She grins bright and happy, and Steve feels a little lost in that smile, a little guilty at how warm and real Darcy makes him feel.

The night before when they ate pizza and watched Indiana Jones—Darcy wrinkling her nose at his choice of pizza toppings and elbowing him in the side whenever she thought he wasn't paying close enough attention to the film—she kept brushing her am against him, and the first few times he thought it was her fidgeting about. The last time her fingertips grazed the back of his hand and he realized she was touching him to make sure he was there with her. That he was real and not a dream. 

"Oh try this, Steve," Darcy says, shoving a square of bread dripping honey between his lips. Steve's not sure if he meant to lick her fingertips as she pulled her hand away, or just the honey she smeared on his lips. Darcy's eyes widen, pupils dilating, blush blooming across her cheeks. 

Clearing his throat, Steve lets his gaze slide away, pretending not to hear Darcy whisper "stupid." He's pretty sure she didn't mean him. Though he could be mistaken, he's done enough stupid things to last two lifetimes, and still he is here living in a future without flying cars.

“We’ll take a jar please,” Steve says to the couple behind the stall, who smile and exchange his cash for a jar of honey. The jar has little cloth cover, dark blue with a scattering of white stars that has Darcy grinning up at him and humming the first bar of the Star Spangled Man with a Plan. It eases the awkwardness between them, and he finds himself reaching for her hand and letting Darcy lead the way. 

...........

“Well that’s me all packed and ready. My cab to the airport will be here soon,” Darcy says, shoving a book into her satchel and slipping it over her shoulder. “It’s been...swell.” 

It’s been more than swell, but the words don’t want to form in her mouth, she doesn’t know how to tell him all the things on her mind. How odd and wonderful and damn frustrating it is to be in the same space. She doesn’t know how to tell him she wants to kiss him every time he smiles crookedly, raises that stupid left eyebrow, or scowls. Especially when he scowls, at the news, at her, at the terrible file S.H.I.E.L.D. sent him with the new design for Captain America’s suit—if the world needs a superhero again. She needs to stop thinking about bread and honey.

“Okay,” Steve says evenly as he hovers by the end of the couch, turning a coin over and over in his hands. “I...uh...okay.”

“Hug?” she says, pulling the sleeves of her sweater over her hands. 

“Yeah,” Steve says and shoves the coin back into his pocket, pulling her into a careful hug. Darcy leans up on her toes and wraps her arms around his shoulders, burying her face in the soft cotton of his perfectly pressed shirt. She breathes in the scent of him- soap, cedar scented aftershave and laundry detergent. Do not cry, she tells herself when her eyes prickle with tears; she hugs him tighter, fisting the back of his shirt in her hands. Darcy sighs against him and pulls back a fraction to let him go but Steve’s arms tighten around her.

“I’d better go,” Darcy says softly, lifting her head. She worries her lip between her teeth and leans up a little further to kiss Steve’s cheek. Lips dragging over smooth shaven skin. Steve turns his head and brushes his mouth against her lips. His lips are soft and dry on hers, tongue slipping into her mouth as he deepens the kiss. Steve threads a hand through her hair, his other hand warm on the small of her back, holding her close. 

Coffee, cinnamon and salt. The taste of Steve’s mouth on hers. She moans and arches into him, hands clenching tightly into his shirt. Of all the times she thought of kissing him she never thought it would be like this, so electric and dirty, heat curling low in her belly. The kiss leaves them both gasping for breath, skin tingling and thoughts a jumbled mess.

"You're not supposed to kiss me like that," Darcy says dazedly, blinking slowly up at Steve. She licks her lips and untangles her fingers from the soft cotton of his plaid shirt. 

"How am I supposed to kiss you then?"

"I don’t know. It's not supposed to be all sparky,” Darcy says, taking a step back and waving her hands around for emphasis.

“Sparky?” Steve questions, running a hand through his perfect hair.

“This isn’t going to help at all. I already think about you all the time. Why can't I stop thinking about you? I mean there is the whole time travel thing but you're grumpy, you eat a gross amount of butter and anchovies on pizza. Anchovies! Nothing should ever have anchovies on it! You call me kiddo to annoy me and...and you are grumpy all the time, and¬¬—"

"You said grumpy twice," Steve says, arching his brows, lips quirking in a bemused smile.

"Because it's true! Don't look at me like that, Steve," she snaps, turning to grab the handle of her suitcase. God, what the hell is she supposed to do now. “My cab’ll be here any minute.”

“Don’t go,” Steve says low. Darcy freezes, breath catching in her throat at the broken sound of his voice.

“Steve?” Darcy says, turning slowly to meet his eyes.

“I don’t want you to go. I don’t want to lose you,” Steve says. His eyes never leave hers. 

“Okay,” Darcy murmurs. Dropping the handle of her suitcase she takes a half step and Steve is there wrapping himself around her. “Can’t breathe, you’re squishing me.”

“M’sorry,” he murmurs, letting his arms drop and taking a small step back.

“I didn’t say to let go altogether,” Darcy says, rolling her eyes and fisting Steve’s shirt to pull herself up to kiss him. Steve’s hands drop onto her hips, warm and solid, and his tongue slides along the seam of her lips. She can’t think beyond his mouth on hers, his thumbs rubbing back and forth on her hips, his warmth radiating into her. 

…….

Kissing Darcy is like kissing a live wire she is vibrant and alive. He worries that she will push him away, that he is clinging to her all the wrong reasons, but then he thinks about blueberries, and honey, and a quarter in his pocket that wouldn't mean anything to anyone else. 

Steve can't lose her and just talking on the phone every week isn't enough; he wants to hold her in his arms. Now that he has kissed her he wants to do it again and again. Hold her tight so she can’t slip away.

They aren't on solid ground; not in a world with time travel, aliens, and things he'd rather not think about, but he will fight when he is called to do his duty. Darcy is warm and real in his arms and right now that is all that matters. 

It's not a dream. 

It never was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have some finished fics in beta so there will be more from me sometime soon but in the meantime if you haven't read [**the random and the ridiculous**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/884415) by Katy and myself then let me point you over there. It is the best worst decision we ever made to write some crack together. Now all of you can see a little bit of what our conversations are like. Though I'm not entirely sure you should encourage us any more than you already have. 
> 
> Anyway I love this ship, and the whole of the Darcyland fandom. You all rock. 
> 
>  
> 
> __  
> [**Meri** ](http://merideathislost.tumblr.com/)  
> 


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